Show Me How Big Your Brave Is
by NeoNails
Summary: Word of the Day Challenge. "You're not allowed to kill them," she whispered back shortly, eyebrows furrowing in the closest thing to a stern glare that she could give him. "Knock out maybe, but no maiming."
1. Something That Could Be

I'm really loving all these little drabble projects you guys have started, so in my spare time I thought I might try my hand at it again. A while back on _CA_ I started a Word of the Day project, and I rather enjoyed that. Figure it can't hurt to take up the challenge once more.

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**Circadian (adj.):** noting or pertaining to rhythmic biological cycles recurring at approximately 24-hour intervals.

* * *

It went without saying that playing bodyguard to Oliver Queen was not the easiest job.

One could assume that it was for the obvious reasons—the constant risk of danger, the migraine-inducing party scene, the idiot playboy antics—but none of that really bothered him. Or, it wouldn't bother him, theoretically, because he only put up with the facsimile of that behavior for about a week and a half before Oliver's terrible lying and disappearing acts got in the way. When John had agreed to work as the personal bodyguard for Moira Queen's son, he had accepted all the general annoyances that came with working for the rich and famous, and while in the back of his mind he wondered if he should have just gotten into contract work like everyone else.

Instead, he wound up dealing with exactly everything he thought he would avoid by working as a bodyguard—daily violence, gunshot wounds, erratic and often high strung hours, and the nagging feeling that one or both of them was going to wind up dead before this was all over. If John didn't have ulcers before he met Oliver Queen, he sure as all hell had them now.

Realistically, he and Oliver would be dead by now if they hadn't picked up Felicity along the way. In the beginning, John was sure that bringing a civilian like Felicity into their operation would only end badly, most likely in blood and a trip to the police station. Felicity had no background in their world, no understanding of the complex and ugly nature of the true world around them. She might have been in possession of some truly impressive computer skills—some of which could be worthy of a white collar jail sentence—but her typical night involved pajamas and a Netflix marathon, not forays with crossbow-wielding crackpots and learning how to best stitch up knife wounds.

But rather than run screaming for the hills, Felicity stuck around, meeting them step for step without ever thinking to pause. She obviously has some trepidations and concerns, but they were never enough to stop her from helping them. Even when he left, she stuck by Oliver's side, having since determined that what they did really was for the best of the city. The girl was fiercely loyal, emphasis on the fierceness. She wasn't as deadly as Oliver or himself, but there was a spark in her that no amount of threat or violence could ever tame.

So the three of them developed a strange rhythm, honed over weeks and months spent confined in close quarters. None of them really slept much, something he knew hit Felicity harder than the rest. She was used to the regulated eight hours of sleep, not four. He saw the bluish-purple bags under her glasses, and while she pretended they didn't exist with some concealer and a vibrant smile, he knew the cause.

Oliver, meanwhile, got maybe two, but that was of his own volition. The man had demons that made his own look simple by comparison, and sleep rarely improved upon that kind of pain. Oliver chose sleepless nights over night terrors, and, as a man who had experienced that kind of fear personally, John couldn't fault him for it.

Oliver chose to spend that time in the foundry, rather than the alternative, which would no doubt involve pacing around his mansion if left unchecked. Personally, John was getting real freaking tired of all the damn pipe climbing, but Oliver got some kind of weird kick out of it so he figured that was gripe he could afford to keep to himself.

He noticed that some nights Felicity would do something similar, zoning out in front of the computers when it appeared that all her work was done for the night. He knew how hard it was for her to deal with the deaths sometimes, and he imagined that had a lot to do with it. She didn't want to worry them, so she internalized a lot of her fears and concerns, putting up her familiar mask of babbling and embarrassment to hide her true feelings. John wondered if Oliver saw that as well, or he just chalked it up as another one of Felicity's oddball quirks.

There was some kind of weird current between Oliver and Felicity, subtle but there. At first, John thought he had been imagining it, but the longer they worked together the more he realized he had been right all along. Of course, just because he recognized it didn't mean he understood anything about it. There was a current of Something That Could Be, but there was so much happening on the surface that John wasn't sure there was enough time to dig that deep. There were too many factors to handle at the moment, and most of them didn't guarantee a positive outcome.

Felicity's little crush on Oliver was noticeable enough, and John suspected that was why Oliver hadn't yet thought to consider the deeper implications. Felicity had let on that Oliver hadn't taken his absence too well, but John shuddered to think how bad he would get if she ever left his side. The words 'apocalyptic' and 'meltdown' came to mind. John couldn't put his finger exactly on what was going on, but it was happening, and it was happening faster than either one of them could recognize.

If that Something That Could Be did pan out, it was going to be the long game, and John was happy to sit and wait in silence. This was the kind of the long game that he didn't mind watching.

So when he walked into the foundry and spotted Felicity passed out of the couch, snoring softly with her head buried in Oliver's arm while he dozed, John knew instinctively that this would not be acknowledged when they woke up. This would not become a thing, or end in deep conversation, or any of those romantic comedy-inspired hijinks. This was a Something That Could Be, but this wasn't the right time for it to be.

John was accepted that, he really did. He only snapped a picture on his phone as a Told You So when it all worked out later.


	2. Flashes

Loving the support, guys! I can't guarantee how frequently I'll have something for you, but I'm trying to go as long as my muse has a vested interest in this plan.

Despite the major in English that my diploma claims, on occasion there comes a word that I have not heard of, or otherwise don't understand. This is one of those words. I'm using the definition here loosely, so forgive my misinterpretations.

(Also, I have yet to see last night's finale, but it's on my computer with the intention of being watched later, so no spoilers just yet.)

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**Allochthonous (adj.):** not formed in the region where found.

* * *

"I thought we could visit Martha's Vineyard this summer. You remember, like we used to do when you two were younger?"

Oliver hesitated a second too long before smiling. "Sure, that'd be great. How long would you want to stay?"

Moira, for her part, simply beamed back. "Oh, I don't know, that would have to depend on your schedules. A week, maybe two?"

She didn't see his hesitation. She didn't want to see it, and for that, Thea couldn't blame her. She didn't want to see Oliver's hesitation, but she didn't have that option anymore. She had broken the glass, so to speak, and now she couldn't see the persona Oliver presented as anything other than a façade. She could only see the person hiding underneath, the one he pretended didn't exist in front of them. She was torn between wishing he would just be honest with them and wishing that he would never show his true colors.

For so long, Thea had seen the same lie as her mother, and accepted at its literal face value because it was easier than digging deeper. Ollie had spent five years on that godforsaken island, five years training and surviving and fighting on that island when the rest of the world thought he was long since dead. No amount of assurances to the contrary could make that fact disappear—she had seen his scars. It wasn't like those were self-inflicted. Oliver had to go through a hell of a lot to not only experience that much pain but also survive.

She had seen flashes of that man, the one that he became on that island, but never for long enough to understand the change. He had been through so much, and yet he went back to being the old Ollie so quickly that they didn't think to wonder why. She didn't think to wonder why, because she had been so, so mad at him in the beginning, and any change for the old was a good mark in her book.

God, she was dumb back then.

She remembered when she first introduced Ollie to Roy, and saw that look in her brother's blue eyes. It was a flash, less than a second, but it was enough for her to recognize the pure, unadulterated rage hidden in his expression. That look made her blood run cold. She had never seen a look like that on her brother's face before, but it came to him so naturally. That anger was natural to Ollie.

That had been the beginning of the end for her. That first flash made her pay attention, and the close she looked, the more lies she discovered. Everything he presented to her and their mother was a lie, carefully crafted to keep them from asking any questions. While any other man would bawling on a therapist's chair for the rest of time, Ollie was all boxed up and compartmentalized and ready to show them whatever they needed to see to prove that he was fine. Except that flash told her that everything was _not_ fine.

It hurt to realize that, but the sting was dulled a little by the realization that she wasn't the only one. Ollie used that false face on nearly everyone he was around, include his saintly college girlfriend, Laurel Lance. While she enjoyed working with Laurel far more than she would ever admit aloud, it was kind of satisfying to realize that even Ollie's longtime love wasn't exempt from his façade. Truly, the only person she ever saw him act natural around was John Diggle, his bodyguard. It was weird, but it made perfect sense at the same time, because she knew Mr. Diggle was a former soldier and had probably seen some pretty terrible things on his own. She was guessing, but she imagined that there had to be some camaraderie there from both having experienced that kind of pain.

"Thea, what do you think?"

She glanced over at her mother at the other end of the table, waiting expectantly for her response. Oliver was waiting for her response as well, but for him it was a different kind of wait. She knew he didn't care either way, he was simply doing the duty they expected of him. Still, she had her duty to do, even if Oliver had yet to realize it.

"I think two weeks sounds like an awesome plan," she replied, grinning widely.

She didn't understand why Oliver felt the need to hide that true nature of his personality, but she was determined to understand it, whether he wanted her to or not. And some quality family time was only going to make that plan easier.

Bring it on, Martha's Vineyard.


	3. Double Down

So I finally watched the finale, and all I can say is… _wow_. That was totally _not_ what I called happening (my money was on Moira or Diggle, personally), but I'm very curious to see how next season will pan out after all this.

This was actually yesterday's word, but I went to a graduation party and forgot but it was halfway done but I figured I should complete it anyway.

Tag to _The Undertaking_ (1.21).

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**Motza (n.):** a large amount of money, especially a sum won in gambling.

* * *

It had all started with a joke.

They had needed it, need some levity in their lives to break up all the pain they experienced each day. And, for whatever reason, they had never gotten around to filling Diggle in on all the details of their night at Alonzo's underground casino. There had been so much else to do at that point, sitting down to discuss the blow by blow just seemed a little trivial by comparison. And then they had to work on the Undertaking, and Malcolm Merlyn, and what felt very close to the end of the world. In short, it was a lot to take in, even for the city's one and only vigilante team.

Months later, when the hurt died down and rebuilding was starting, they had more or less gotten back to their version of normal. The conversation had started off rather innocuously, and in the course of their night off the story of her second foray into the world of undercover work came up. It wasn't exactly a success, but she considered an improvement over her first outing. Hey, any nights that did not end in a bomb collar were a bonus in her book. Her rule of thumb used to be a lot less violent before she started working with them.

The event itself hadn't kept Diggle's attention for very long, but her knowledge in cards sure as hell caught it. She knew they were both fully aware of her intelligence, but somehow that never translated to her ability to count cards. She was a tech geek at heart, but math was always one of her favorites, particularly statistics. Her brain just had a knack for understanding complex patterns, and that translated well to poker. Really, she never used that skill often—it's not like she set out to be a card shark or anything—it was just something she kept in her back pocket, in case she was ever in a situation that called for it.

It turned out that Diggle was something of a card player himself, having spent some time in various deserts learning the intricacies of the game. And that practice led to some skepticism. He was skeptical of her skill, something that hadn't happened to her in years. Then again, she hadn't really admitted that she could count cards in years, either. Nonetheless, her pride gets in the way a bit when Diggle makes a crack about her attempting to play them out of her money.

If it had been a different day, she might have let it slide. But that night, they had decided to split two bottles of wine, and she had skipped dinner, so it was completely possible that those three glasses of merlot went to her head a little bit more than usual. Before she could think twice, the words were out of her mouth and she was announcing that she could kick both their asses with both hands tied behind her back.

She _probably_ shouldn't have said that.

She didn't know _where_ Oliver pulled that deck of cards from, but then he was shuffling and Diggle was chuckling to himself and she was praying to God that she wasn't tipsy enough to forget how to play. But really, only she would be dumb enough to get herself into a poker game with a soldier and a vigilante.

But they were already sitting at the cheap little folding table they bought a while back, so it wasn't like she could go anywhere, and then Oliver was sloppily dealing her hand—seriously, his form was terrible—and she hoped for the best. They decided on Texas hold 'em, and while her preference was Blackjack she was still more than proficient at the game. But she glanced at her cards and had to stop a smile when she saw the queen and jack of hearts. Filling the suit wouldn't be easy, but she weighed the odds and determined the risk to be worth it.

"So what are we betting on again?" she asked, blinking rapidly behind her glasses as glanced back and forth between her two unofficial coworkers. "Pretzels? Wine? Cash?"

Oliver and Diggle shared a look. "Dinner," they agreed at the same time. Men.

Laughing, she rolled her eyes as she replied, "Fine. Whoever loses buys dinner."

"For a week," Diggle added.

With that agreed, they continued playing. When Oliver revealed that pretty red king on the flop after the first burn it was all she took not to cheer. She spotted Diggle's grimace seconds before he folded. Oliver pulled a ten of hearts on the turn and eyed her speculatively. While under normal circumstances she could ramble on about the statistical likelihood of pulling a king and a ten of the same suit, but instead of doing so, she simply arched an eyebrow and said, "Don't look at me, you shuffled the cards. Badly."

Diggle chuckled to himself as he leaned back in his chair, content with watching how the rest of the game played out. Oliver smirked, replying, "I didn't say anything."

"Then deal the next card," she replied, holding back a laugh as she tilted her head towards the deck in front of them. Laughing, Oliver burned the top card and revealed the river. Ace of hearts.

Needless to say, she didn't have to pay for dinner.


	4. Lunch Break

I'm trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do now that all my TV shows for the season are over. More than likely, I'm going to have survive on Netflix until my summer shows start up. I live a boring life.

I'm not sure how old Felicity is supposed to be on the show, but I'm guesstimating her to be around 25.

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**Darg (n.):** a day's work; a fixed or definite amount of work.

* * *

As much as Felicity loved technology, her 9-to-5 job had lost a little of luster since she started working with Ollie and Dig. She supposed she should have expected that, but she really did enjoy working for Queen Enterprises. There weren't many well-paying IT jobs that included great benefits and a misogynist-free workplace. In fact, she adored her coworkers. They were her kind of people—quiet until they were comfortable, and then they wouldn't shut up, quirky to a fault, and obsessed with all things pop culture and nerdy. She couldn't have found better coworkers if she tried.

Tim was their newest hire, fresh out of MIT and cute as a button to boot. He brought the whole group coffees every Monday morning, traded barbs with their boss, Gary, like it was nothing, and had the coolest TARDIS mug she had ever seen. Her only other female coworker, Alice, was convinced the two of them needed to hook up and have a bunch of super-smart, super-dorky, and super-adorable babies together. And if she wasn't wrist-deep in vigilante work and he wasn't a good five years her junior, she might have considered that option.

Not that that deterred Alice any. She was convinced that they needed to go on a coffee or lunch date and then Felicity would see what she deemed, "the most obviously destined couple in, like, the whole world." Rather than fighting her, Felicity just rolled her eyes and shooed her friend away from her desk.

When she mentioned this silly anecdote to the boys, she assumed they would find her friend's behavior as hilariously baffling as she did. What she got instead was Diggle furrowing his brow and asking if she needed him to do a background check on Tim and Oliver glaring indecipherably at her before skulking off to God knows where. For the record, this was exactly why she had never worked or spent long periods of time with alpha males. At least, she assumed so. This was pretty much her only opportunity to work and spend long periods of time with alpha males, but she figured it was safe to assume it was like this a lot.

Alice was nothing if not persistent, if predictable, and sure enough the following morning she oh-so casually mentioned that Felicity and Tim should go out to lunch together because they, quote, "had _so_ much in common," end quote. She seriously needed to educate Alice on the art of subtlety. Unfortunately for Alice but fortunately for the rest of the office, Tim had an über-important meeting with Gary so any lunch dates would have to be put on hold until the following day. Felicity idly wondered how childish it would be on a scale of one to ten to skip work.

Luckily, she had been tasked with updating the building's firewalls, which was easy, mindless work but very time-consuming. It was the perfect assignment to take her mind off the inner machinations of her workplace and into the relaxing world of tedium. It was so uncomplicated that she lost all track of time until she heard Gary choking from the front of the office.

When Felicity looked up, she was pretty sure she could've started choking, but she was also pretty sure you couldn't choke on air. The one and only Oliver Queen was filling up their IT Department doorway, decked out in his sharpest grey Armani suit and inexplicably clutching two Big Belly Burgers bags. Her stomach fell somewhere near her canary yellow pumps.

While her four other coworkers stared, owl eyed, as they tried to figure out why the prodigal son had shown up to their door with city-famous burgers, Felicity already knew who he was targeting. And good Lord, she could throttle him, because she had never taken the time to tell anyone about her work-relationship with Oliver because she could never figure out a lie big yet vague enough to cover everything they did together. So she kept her mouth shut for once, only to realize, of course, that it was going to bite her in the ass.

Oliver smiled that fake yet charming smile at them before beelining straight to her desk. Glaring at her desktop with renewed purpose, she could feel her face start to flame with embarrassment as every eye in the room fell on her. Not that that did anything, because a few torturously long seconds later, Oliver unceremoniously dropped the bags on her desk. "Hey," he said, this time smiling genuinely.

She looked up at him and resisted the urge to growl. "Hi," she replied shortly. "Is there something you need?"

"Nope," he answered. The asshat was enjoying this. She could not possibly get any redder. "There wasn't much to do at the club so I thought I would come over and join you for lunch."

Her eyes skittered down to the white paper bags before locking back to his. "I already have lunch. Thanks."

She knew that wasn't enough to work on him, but she hoped for the best anyway. His smile didn't budge a bit as he gestured back towards the two bags. "Really? 'Cuz I brought your favorite."

Felicity really did have a lunch with her, but it in no way compared to the awe-inspiring-ness that was one of Big Belly Burger's cheeseburgers with everything on it, plus ketchup, with a side of their golden, skinny fries. She was practically drooling right then and there. "You didn't need to buy me lunch," she told him, getting impatient. She knew she was on the losing end of this battle, but she couldn't or the life of her give up without a fight.

Oliver shrugged one massive, muscular shoulder. "Ehh," he said. "I figured I owed you one. Or two, given how much work you did for me at Verdant."

Okay, he was nice enough to give her a plausible alibi for her coworkers, who were of course going to have like eight billion questions when this was all over. She pursed her lips, glaring him down even though she could already feel Alice staring daggers into her back. "So?" he prompted. "What do you say? Feel like taking a lunch break with me?"

Felicity sighed heavily. She knew there was no winning this one, but felt a defeated all the same. When work was over, she was _totally_ telling Diggle that he picked on her today. "Fine," she replied, rolling her eyes but standing up anyway. "I guess I could take a lunch break now."

Oliver's grin was infectious. "Perfect."


	5. Constrict

This is the longest so far, but that's because I finally got a word that I think you guys will enjoy, if only a little more than the others… ;) Sure, it's a little cliché, but I always like doing my own spin on clichés.

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**Coalesce (v.):** to blend or come together.

* * *

She really needed to get out of this fucking dress.

At the beginning of the night, she was fine in the cobalt blue cocktail dress, but an hour and a half later she was fairly certain she couldn't breathe. And had the temperature gone up ten or fifteen degrees? Because she could swear she was not this hot earlier, but she definitely had some perspiration going on all over. She desperately wanted to fan herself but she figured that was probably going to draw unnecessary attention to them. And they already had enough unnecessary attention.

Her palm was slick with sweat and her fingers were starting cramp up, but there was no way she was going to loosen her iron grip on the USB and risk dropping it. They—she in particular—had gone through so much tonight to get that stupid intel, and there was no way she was going to screw it all up just because she was a little uncomfortable. Okay, a lot uncomfortable.

Her knees knocked into his, trapped in the confines of her dumb, tight skirt. His free hand covered her knee, keeping her from doing so again. Which really only made the problem worse, because she was only fidgeting because she was basically nose to nose with him in the narrow space between the shower and the sink. And now she had to contend with the feel of his large, calloused hand pressing against her skin. In a couple seconds she was probably going to pass out from the heat. And humiliation.

She could hear the shuffles of leather soles on marble, and she could feel his whole body tense further with each passing second. She knew his trigger finger was getting itchy, but she had insisted on a no-bow night, especially for something that was supposed to be an easy job. She didn't care how evil this hedge fund manager was, she didn't want to see his security getting needlessly mowed down. "They're gonna be on us any second," he growled in her ear. If she had his control she probably wouldn't have shivered automatically. Probably.

"You're not allowed to kill them," she whispered back shortly, her eyebrows furrowing in the closest thing she could give him to a stern glare. "Knock out maybe, but no maiming." Trouble was, it was so dark that she doubted he could even see her. Then again, maybe not. She was half-convinced he was part tiger, so night vision didn't seem like something beyond possibility.

He huffed in impatience, the hot air fanning across her exposed neck and making her want to squirm. She would be way less sweaty if he gave her some room, but that wasn't going to happen with the security swarming their floor. Everything had gone off without a hitch, up until she had stumbled in her heels and sent the whole bar set on his table, tumblers and all, crashing to the floor. It was kind of hard to miss the sound of glass and bourbon spilling over _fucking everything_.

"You check the boss's bathroom?"

Her short nails dug so hard into her palm that she was pretty sure she broke skin. Exhaling one slow, shaky breath, she felt his arm press into her back, ready for a fight. "Felicity," he murmured, his tone serious but urgent and perfect at grabbing her attention. "Don't panic. Take another deep breath and relax as much as you can. You're not going to like this part but I need you to just go with it."

She didn't know what that last sentence meant, but in her experience with Oliver that translated to bloodshed and broken bones. Ugh. She hoped she didn't get any blood on her new shoes…

The arm he had tucked around her back slid lower, hand smoothly tucking around her hip. He shifted, stepping in front of her in a protective stance, ready to block her from the security guards in case anything went wrong. He constantly put her in life-threatening and/or arrest-worthy situations, but at least he had the decency to protect her while he did it. Her lips curved up in an unconscious smile at the thought, until that smile was interrupted when he covered her mouth with his.

To her knowledge, this was the only time she was shocked by a kiss, but then this was also the only time in her life she was forced to fake a kiss to survive. But by her experience, the kiss itself was no fake, judging by the way his hand tangled in her hair, slanting her lips against his for the perfect angle. While she was still more than a little shocked, that didn't mean she wasn't capable of recovering. She had been fantasizing about something like this happening for _months_, and she wasn't going to look a gift horse in a mouth when she was presented with one. She laced her fingers along the back of his neck, kissing him back for all she was worth.

And it was _so_ easy to see why Laurel was still obsessed with him, because, boy, that man knew what to do with his lips. And teeth. And tongue. She was a quivering mess and it had probably been all of ten seconds. His hand drifted up her back, the pads of his fingers tracing her spine with deliberateness. The whimper that escaped her was involuntary, but entirely warranted.

Their little bubble exploded with light, and she was so stunned that she pulled back from Oliver automatically, even if it was her body's last instinct to do so. "What in the hell do we have here?!"

Oliver's big shoulders blocked her view, but her muddled mind was still capable of presuming that the guards had turned on the bathroom lights and the jig, as they say, was up. Biting her bottom lip, which felt deliciously tingly, she wondered how exactly getting caught making out in the bathroom was any better than getting caught at all.

"Hey, wha's the deal?" Oliver said, putting on a rather convincing slur as he turned his head glared at them. "We jus' wanted some alone time!"

"Oliver _Queen?!_" the other guard asked in disbelief. Risking a glance, she peeked over his shoulder and spotted the two guards gaping at them. Well, they hadn't tried to arrest them yet, so that was something. "What are you doing here?"

He laughed kind of callously, like he thought they were stupid. "I tol' you," he repeated. "We wanted some _alone_ time."

Both guards' eyes fell to her, and her face flamed as she finally understood the implications. Right. Her boss was a manwhore. She always forgot about that part. Awkward.

After several minutes of painful, stuttered backtracking from the guards, they were able to slink out of there. Well, she slinked. She was pretty sure what Oliver did was called 'swaggered.'

What happened in the bathroom was most assuredly going to require a conversation—or two—but for now, she counted herself lucky that she managed to not get arrested/killed _and_ made out with Oliver all in the same night. Oh, and that it had never occurred to either of the guards that the office door had originally been locked.

Oops.


	6. Proof

I'm DC-obsessed, so this word was just rife with opportunity for me. This would obviously need to be set pretty far in the future, if only for the sake of the characters involved.

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**Theurgy (n.):** the working of a divine or supernatural agency in human affairs.

* * *

"I don't believe it," Oliver announced, storming into the lair with a scowl on his face and a tension in his shoulders. There was no inflection in his words, his tone flat and full of rage. Idly, she marveled that he made titanium look flexible by comparison.

"Well, believe it," she told him, spinning back and forth an inch or two in her chair. "Because, regardless of what _you_ want, it most certainly happened."

"It was a trick," he argued hotly, looking ready to deck somebody at any second. "An-an optical illusion!"

"Dude, I was there," Roy interrupted, having stood up from his unofficial spot lounging on their couch. "It wasn't a fake." He had stripped out of his Kevlar and leather hoodie and was still in a t-shirt and the corresponding pants. He had beat Oliver back to the lair by a few minutes, but Felicity assumed that was only because the older vigilante was busy taking out his rage on every mugger and/or attacker that he could find. It looked like it hadn't done much to take the edge off.

"That's not possible," he snarled, then swung his gaze back to hers. If she had boots on, she would so be quaking in them. "What can you find out about it?"

She hesitated. "Uhh… from the security camera footage?" she asked rhetorically, glancing over her shoulder at her precious computers. "Not a whole heck of a lot. I mean, I pretty much saw what you guys saw. One second she was there, next second… poof."

"Not good enough," he growled, taking a warning step towards her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roy inch forward, ready to tackle him if need be. Not that there would ever be a need—Roy was still new at this, and he wasn't yet used to Oliver's sometimes upredictable-when-actually-completely-predictable threats. Ollie would never hurt her, he was just so used to intimidation as his only form of coercion that he sometimes forgot he wasn't talking to a criminal.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," she replied with a casual wave of her hand as she turned back to the monitors. Bringing up the footage, she started playing right at the point where he and Roy cornered her on the rooftop. "You can watch it again if you want. Like I said, there, then poof."

"Not possible," he ground out, and her chair sunk a little as he pressed his hand and his weight into it. "I've done that trick dozens of times before."

"Yeah, and in every instance, playing back the footage we can watch where you go," she replied smoothly, glancing up at him. "Or if we can't, it's because you slipped into a trapdoor or something."

"_Exactly_," he said triumphantly, like she had proved his point. Oh, sweetie.

"But that's not what happened here," she told him, reversing the video to the moment before everything went crazy. "She doesn't go _anywhere_—left, right, up—"

"What about a trapdoor?" he snapped before she could finish.

Rolling her eyes at his impatience, she shook her head and minimized the footage, bringing up a different window, one that contained a st of blueprints. "There is no trapdoor. You were on the rooftop and the only exit was the door to the stairwell. She didn't throw up a puff of smoke and then run away. She threw up a puff of smoke and then _disappeared_."

That was exactly the wrong answer to give him, and she knew that, but it wasn't like she could fudge the truth for him. She wasn't _that_ much of an enabler.

"I don't understand why you have such a rough time grasping the concept of magic," Roy observed, running a hand through his hair as he badly attempted to fight off a smile. She instantly regretted glancing at him, because it only made her want to crack up. "I mean, you rely on those weird herbs like they're Tylenol, but you can't get a hold of _magic?_"

She snickered for a second, but covered her mouth with her hand when she saw Oliver's glare. "I said nothing," she said, throwing up her hands in defense. "But the kid might have a point."

"That. Was. Not. Magic."

"So you claim," she replied, finding it harder and harder not to laugh. "However, I think the chick in the bowtie and top hat _might_ disagree with you on that one."

Oliver was not amused. Too bad Felicity and Roy were.

$4$

I wasn't planning on writing an end note, but since I did something DC-related I want to make a little note to those not as nerdy in that arena:

Batman exists in the same universe as Green Arrow. Ergo, they can't call the foundry the Bat Cave because there's a "real" Bat Cave that either has yet to happen/Oliver has not been made aware of yet. Additionally, Bruce Wayne also "exists" in this universe, so it should be impossible to have the line of Dark Knight/Batman movies because he's a living vigilante, not a comic book character, in the universe. It seems silly to point out, I know, but it's a pet peeve of mine because I'm such a huge comic book fan.

Thanks!


	7. Celebrations

Never heard of this word before but I must say that I'm kind of loving it for the possibilities alone.

$4$

**Genethliac (adj.): **of or pertaining to birthdays or to the position of the stars at one's birth.

* * *

He had specifically made her promise not to do this.

He hated having to do this, put on a fake smile for a bunch of strangers while they all coo over him like he's a prize pony and he tries in vain not to imagine how to kill them all. He hated dressing up and playing make believe and lying. He hated everything about his billionaire lifestyle, even though it was the only mask keeping his real identity safe from the cops and the paparazzi.

Thea didn't quite grasp that concept, because she still loved the limelight and the all the people and the attention. She was still a teenager, after all, so he couldn't fault her for that. But he had told her specifically—and explicitly—not to do anything for him. He didn't want to be fussed over. Really, he didn't want to even be acknowledged, but if pressed he could settle for something low-key and—most importantly—_quiet_.

It was a shame his baby sister had a hard time grasping that word.

"Thank you, thank you," he murmured under his breaths, a constant stream of empty gratifications that only made him angrier, not happier. It had already been an hour and a half, and he wondered if that was enough time spent schmoozing that he could skip out. He would never admit it, but he didn't want to disappoint Thea. He and his mother had already put her through so much, emotionally speaking, and he didn't want to intentionally upset her any more than he'd already done in the past.

She was all decked out in some sparkly, lime green cocktail dress thing that was entirely too inappropriate in his brotherly opinion, but the ear-to-ear grin on her face was so genuinely happy that he couldn't bear to rain on her almost literal parade. If all else failed, at least he could relax in knowing that his sister had a wonderful career as an event planner ahead of her.

Accidentally catching her eye, Thea wiggled her fingers at him from across the room. From far away, she looked disturbingly grown up, but no dress or fancy shindig could make him think of her as anything other than his well-intention if foul-mouthed baby sister. Sauntering over to him, she gave him—considering her size—an impressive bear hug and whispered in his ear, "You're totally miserable right now, aren't you?"

His brow furrowed. "Of course not, Thea," he told her earnestly. He was very good at sounding earnest when he wanted it. "This is a wonderful party."

Letting him go, she rolled her eyes, highlighted with smoky makeup and heavy eyeliner. "Yeah, a wonderful party that you want nothing to do with," she quipped, her lips twisting into a lopsided smile. "And I know, I know, I ignored you when you told me not to have a party, I don't want to be fawned over, I just wanna be a Grumpy Cat in the house all alone, blah blah blah—"

He didn't understand the last part, but he knew Thea well enough to know that the serious older brother glare was required. She took note, switching her train of though at light-speed. "Whatevs. The point is, I came over here to tell you to get the hell out."

He arched an eyebrow as he waited for her to elaborate. Smirking wider, she added, "Seriously. Leave. I _know_ you want to, and today I want _you_ to be happy, even if that means ditching this totally bitchin' party."

He frowned, hesitating as he considered her logic. He really did want to leave, but he didn't want to upset her, either. "Won't I miss the dessert?"

Thea looked pleased with herself. "I'll tell everybody you left to go hang out with some bottle blonde."

* * *

When Oliver finally got back to the lair, he wasn't surprised to see Diggle and Felicity already there. However, he couldn't say he expected the chocolate cupcake, a solitary candle perched at the top of the icing. Flicking on a red lighter, Felicity held it over the candle until a little yellow flame appeared.

"Happy birthday, Oliver."


End file.
